Chapter 14 #2
The envelope had weight and rattled. I knew from touch what I’d find inside before I opened it, but still the sight of my keys sliding out and into my palm hit me hard. Gasping with a pain more intense than any I could remember, I read the accompanying note card.
THANK YOU, EVA. FOR EVERYTHING.
YOURS, G
A Dear Jane brush-off. It had to be. Otherwise, he would’ve given me the keys after work on the way to the gym.
There was a dull roaring in my ears. I felt dizzy. Disoriented. I was frightened and agonized. Furious.
I was also at work.
Closing my eyes and clenching my fists, I pulled myself together and fought off the driving urge to go upstairs and call Gideon a coward.
He probably saw me as a threat, someone who’d come in, unwanted and uninvited, and shaken up his orderly world.
Someone who’d demanded more from him than just his hot body and hefty bank account.
I shut my emotions behind a glass wall, where I was aware of them waiting in the background, but I was able to get through the rest of my workday.
By the time I clocked out and headed downstairs, I still hadn’t heard from Gideon.
I was such an emotional disaster at that point I felt only a single, sharp twinge of despair as I exited the Crossfire.
I made it to the gym. I shut my brain off and ran full-bore on the treadmill, fleeing the anguish that would hit me soon enough. I ran until sweat coursed in rivulets down my face and body, and rubber legs forced me to stop.
Feeling battered and exhausted, I hit the showers.
Then I called my mother and asked her to send Clancy to the gym to pick me up for our appointment with Dr. Petersen.
As I put my work clothes back on, I mustered the energy to get through that last task before I could go home and collapse on my bed.
I waited for the town car at the curb, feeling separate and apart from the city teeming around me.
When Clancy pulled up and hopped out to open the back door for me, I was startled to see my mom already inside.
It was early yet. I’d expected to be driven solo to the apartment she shared with Stanton and wait on her for twenty minutes or so. That was our usual routine.
“Hey, Mom,” I said wearily, settling on the seat beside her.
“How could you, Eva?” She was crying into a monogrammed handkerchief, her face beautiful even while reddened and wet with tears. “Why?”
Jolted out of my torment by her misery, I frowned and asked, “What did I do now?”
The new cell phone, if she’d somehow found out about it, wouldn’t trigger this much drama. And it was too soon after the fact for her to know about my breakup with Gideon.
“You told Gideon Cross about . . . what happened to you.” Her lower lip trembled with distress.
My head jerked back in shock. How could she know that? My God . . . Had she bugged my new place? My purse . . . ? “What?”
“Don’t act clueless!”
“How do you know I told him?” My voice was a pained whisper. “We just talked last night.”
“He went to see Richard about it today.”
I tried to picture Stanton’s face during that conversation. I couldn’t imagine my stepfather taking it well. “Why would he do that?”
“He wanted to know what’s been done to prevent information leaks. And he wanted to know where Nathan is—” She sobbed. “He wanted to know everything.”
My breath hissed out between my teeth. I wasn’t sure what Gideon’s motivation was, but the possibility that he’d dumped me over Nathan and was now making sure that he was safe from scandal hurt worse than anything.
I twisted in pain, my spine arching away from the seat back.
I’d thought it was his past that drove a wedge between us, but it made more sense that it was mine.
For once I was grateful for my mother’s self-absorption, which kept her from seeing how devastated I was.
“He had a right to know,” I managed in a voice so raw it sounded nothing like my own. “And he has a right to try to protect himself from any blowback.”
“You’ve never told any of your other boyfriends.”
“I’ve never dated anyone who makes national headlines by sneezing either.” I stared out the car window at the traffic that boxed us in. “Gideon Cross and Cross Industries are global news, Mother. He’s light-years away from the guys I dated in college.”
She spoke more, but I didn’t hear her. I shut down for self-protection, cutting off the reality that was suddenly too painful to be endured.
DR. Petersen’s office was exactly as I remembered. Decorated in soothing neutrals, it was both professional and comfortable. Dr. Petersen was the same—a handsome man with gray hair and gentle, intelligent blue eyes.
He welcomed us into his office with a wide smile, commenting on how lovely my mother looked and how like her I was.
He said he was happy to see me again and that I looked well, but I could tell he spoke for my mother’s benefit.
He was too trained an observer to miss the raging emotions I suppressed.
“So,” he began, settling into his chair across from the sofa my mother and I sat on. “What brings you both in today?”
I told him about the way my mom had been tracking my movements via my cell phone signal and how violated I felt.
Mom told him about my interest in Krav Maga and how she took it as a sign that I wasn’t feeling safe.
I told him about how my mom and Stanton had pretty much taken over Parker’s studio, which made me feel suffocated and claustrophobic.
She told him I’d betrayed her trust by divulging deeply personal matters to strangers, which made her feel naked and painfully exposed.
Through it all, Dr. Petersen listened attentively, took notes, and spoke rarely, until we’d purged everything.
Once we’d quieted, he asked, “Monica, why didn’t you tell me about tracking Eva’s cell phone?”
The angle of her chin altered, a familiar defensive posture. “I didn’t see anything wrong with it. Many parents track their children through their cell phones.”
“Underage children,” I shot back. “I’m an adult. My personal time is exactly that.”
“If you were to envision yourself in her place, Monica,” Dr. Petersen interjected, “would it be possible that you might feel as she does? What if you discovered someone was monitoring your movements without your knowledge or permission?”
“Not if the someone was my mother and I knew it gave her peace of mind,” she argued.
“And have you considered how your actions affect Eva’s peace of mind?
” he queried gently. “Your need to protect her is understandable, but you should discuss the steps you wish to take openly with her. It’s important to gain her input—and expect cooperation only when she chooses to give it.
You have to honor her prerogative to set limits that may not be as broad as you’d like them to be. ”
My mother sputtered indignantly.
“Eva needs her boundaries, Monica,” he continued, “and a sense of control over her own life. Those things were taken from her for a long time, and we have to respect her right to establish them now in the manner that best suits her.”
“Oh.” My mother twisted her handkerchief around her fingers. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
I reached out for my mother’s hand when her lower lip trembled violently. “Nothing could’ve stopped me from talking to Gideon about my past. But I could have forewarned you. I’m sorry I didn’t think of it.”
“You’re much stronger than I ever was,” my mother said, “but I can’t help worrying.”
“My suggestion,” Dr. Petersen said, “would be for you to take some time, Monica, and really think about what sorts of events and situations cause you anxiety. Then write them down.”
My mother nodded.
“When you have what will surely not be an exhaustive list but a strong start,” he went on, “you can sit down with Eva and discuss strategies for addressing those concerns—strategies you can both live with comfortably. For example, if not hearing from Eva for a few days troubles you, perhaps a text message or an e-mail will alleviate that.”
“Okay.”
“If you like, we can go over the list together.”
The back-and-forth between the two made me want to scream. It was insult to injury. I hadn’t expected Dr. Petersen to smack some sense into my mom, but I’d hoped he would at least take a harder line—God knew someone needed to, someone whose authority she respected.
When the hour ended and we were on our way out, I asked my mom to wait a moment so I could ask Dr. Petersen one last personal and private question.
“Yes, Eva?” He stood in front of me, looking infinitely patient and wise.
“I just wondered . . .” I paused, needing to swallow past a lump in my throat. “Is it possible for two abuse survivors to have a functional romantic relationship?”
“Absolutely.” His immediate, unequivocal answer forced the trapped air from my lungs.
I shook his hand. “Thank you.”
WHEN I got home, I unlocked my door with the keys Gideon had returned to me and went straight to my room, offering a lame wave to Cary, who was practicing yoga in the living room to a DVD.
I stripped off my clothes as I crossed the distance from my closed bedroom door to the bed, finally crawling between the cool sheets in just my underwear. I hugged a pillow and closed my eyes, so tired and drained I had nothing left.
The door opened at my back, and a moment later Cary sat beside me.
He brushed my hair away from my tear-streaked face. “What’s the matter, baby girl?”
“I got kicked to the curb today. Courtesy of a fucking note card.”
He sighed. “You know the drill, Eva. He’s going to keep pushing you away, because he’s expecting you to fail him like everyone else has.”
“And I keep proving him right.” I recognized myself in the description Cary had just given. I ran when the going got tough, because I was so sure it was all going to end badly. The only control I had was to be the one who left, instead of the one who was left behind.
“Because you’re fighting to protect your own recovery.” He lay down and spooned against my back, wrapping one leanly muscular arm around me and tucking me tight against him.
I snuggled into the physical affection I hadn’t realized I needed. “He might’ve dumped me because of my past, not his.”
“If that’s true, it’s good it’s over. But I think you two will find each other eventually. At least I’m hoping you will.” His sigh was soft on my neck. “I want there to be happily-ever-afters for the fucked-up crowd. Show me the way, Eva honey. Make me believe.”